Flashback
by My Only Carriage
Summary: LL. My vision for the final scene of the Season 5 finale. “You know, for a long time, since you were Duke to me, I had this problem. I thought you were a little bit perfect.”


**Disclaimer:** I unfortunately still don't own any of them. I'm working on it.

**Spoilers: **It's based on early spoilers for the finale, but I wrote it the way I would have wanted to see it, so while overall it's based on the final scene of the finale, the details are not.

**Thank you: **For reading, as always.

* * *

When her parents told her they'd worked out a side deal with Rory to stay at the pool house (temporarily, they emphasized), she was upset.

When she left before the drinks were served, and caught a glimpse of her daughter through the pool house windows, she was disappointed.

When she got in her car and drove out of the driveway, down the long, oak and maple lined street, around the corner and down back to Stars Hollow, she was angry.

It simmered, she drove faster, shaking her head in pure disbelief, wondering if somebody had snuck in and transferred all of them to an alternate dimension, where nothing worked like it was supposed to, and even the law of gravity had barely a tenuous hold.

When she pulled up to the diner and saw him fiddling around behind the counter, with nothing to do but wait for her, she felt the emotions drain out of her body, one by one. It's why after the bell above the door dinged, and he turned around, she offered a simple hug, sat down and relayed the events in a surgical, precise way. It was interesting to her to watch the same upset, the same disappointment and the same anger flash across his features, in the very same order as she experienced them.

"I can't believe this!" He exclaimed when her story had reached its logical conclusion.

"Yeah, well."

"I don't even know what to say. Is this what shock feels like?"

"Probably. Take your time."

"It's gonna wear off?"

"Not a chance."

He expels his breath loudly, so she's sure he's still in his anger stage. She, on the other hand, is rather numb, and wondering how long it will take him to join her.

"Okay, so what can I do?"

"Oh, let it simmer. It should wear off," she checks her watch, "in a half an hour or so. If we're on the same schedule."

"No, what can I do for you?"

His concern is obvious and evident, and if she had to hazard a guess, she'd say so is the sparkle in her eyes that is fighting to get through the dim lighting of the diner.

Flashback. He's at her house, on the porch, mashed potatoes in hand for an ailing Rory. Without one single lump. What can he do for her?

"You know, for a long time, since you were Duke to me, I had this problem. I thought you were a little bit perfect."

"Lorelai, nobody's perfect."

His protest is quiet, but immediate. She knows that if she were to look up at this particular moment, there would be a slight blush rising in his cheeks, and if she were to smile at him in her famous enigmatic way (so he liked to call it in the dead of night), the redness would slowly spread to the tip of his ears. Then he'd go into full aw-shucks mode, present her with that patented embarrassed look, and refuse to meet her eyes.

Flashback. Luke, sad and lost and brilliant, with three little girls on a bench at the very public engagement party of the woman he's wanted for years.

That's the kind of man he is.

Which made her pronouncement all the more accurate.

"Least of all you?" She guesses.

"That's more like it." He agrees.

"Not even a teeny, tiny bit?" She wonders.

"Probably not."

"You thought Rory was."

It's not a challenge, just a statement of fact. She was the pride and joy, in a way that Jess couldn't be, and without all the attached, _real_ parental duties.

"Well, there's always that teeny, tiny bit." He counters, with a sad, half-smile gracing his features.

"Gone!"

She claps her hands quickly, loudly, and he jumps a bit, his shoulders jerking up and then back at the sudden, unexpected noise.

"Just like that."

"I don't believe that."

"No Yale, yes jail. It even rhymes." She notes miserably.

"So it was a mistake."

"Nice of you to join me."

"Where?"

"On the same page." She answers him dryly.

"Then we agree it's a mistake." He concludes and watches her nod her assent. "Okay, that's good. What do we do now?"

"With what?"

"Not with. _About._"

She shakes her head, because it's easier than formulating a response, and continues to rip to shreds the piece of napkin she's taken from the table in front of her. It's inconsiderate to be dropping tiny flakes of paper all over his floor, but the way they flutter and fall to the floor distracts her, and she's not willing to give that up. Almost like snow. Better even, because they're not melting away into oblivion once they make contact with the linoleum.

Flashback. Rory's graduation, his short hair, the tears in his eyes, looking away from her so as not to embarrass himself by revealing all these unmanly emotions.

He looks at her expectantly, long enough that she can sense it and raise her head back up.

"Nothing." She says with a deep sigh.

"What do you mean, nothing?"

"That's what you sometimes do."

"If you're doing nothing then you're not doing anything at all."

"That's exactly right."

He slams the palm of his hand against the countertop.

"That's not, I don't know…you have a problem, you fix it. That's how it works, damn it!"

"I don't know how."

It kills him how hopeless and resigned she sounds. At first he tells himself it's because she's exhausted. She hasn't slept well, she isn't thinking straight and if he could just get some decent food into her, things would start to make sense. But he's a realist first, and he knows that she's tired because she's resigned, and not the other way around.

"We'll make her see straight again. She's smart, she's so smart, you can reason with her, Lorelai."

"If only you were with the two of us at Weston's the other day, you might not be so sure."

"Then you and I will figure it out. We'll figure something out. Everything has a solution."

Flashback. The Inn burns down, she sleeps on his bed and in the morning he tells her she's welcome to stay. As long as she needs, no date is set.

Flashback. Her own Inn. Bills shot at her like cannon balls. She's holding them and the immense weight is sinking her. Feet stuck in quick sand. Luke's enormous hands holding on tight, his money saving her dream, his lack of hesitation warming her heart.

Is it naivete or a sign of a really decent man that he's ready to make such a huge effort to put the world back together the way it should be? Truth be told, she doesn't know, but she suspects it's the latter. She may have been a teenage maid with a baby at her hip, but he'd seen a lot in his lifetime too. Lost a lot. At some point or other, maybe it even seemed like he'd lost it all. A mother whose features he doesn't remember exactly unless he's got a photo in front of him. A father who died before Luke was through being a boy. A sister who ran away. The first love who ditched him in favor of her own dreams.

No, it's not naivete, she decides.

"Not tonight, it doesn't."

"Tomorrow then."

"Maybe not."

"Next week, next month, whenever."

"Whenever is good." She agrees softly.

"Okay, then good. Not good, but you know…"

"As good as it gets."

She shakes her head and sighs again. She's been doing a lot of that, but if a better response exists, she hasn't found it yet.

"And that's alright, it's okay, I can deal, but I wanted more for her than I had."

"You're her mother." He says sweetly, and it only makes her more sad.

"I love her."

"I know. She knows."

Briefly, he wonders if somebody could watch this scene unfold from a distance, he'd see them as an odd couple. He, full of nervous energy. She, accepting her fate while collapsed on a vinyl-backed diner chair.

"As a parent, you have expectations. And then your kid meets them and you think you have a baby genius. And then your kid exceeds them and you're high as a kite. Natural high, hormones coursing through your veins – or is it arteries? That was Rory. The kid who did."

"A lot of it is because of you."

"Some." She agrees.

"Come on, Lorelai, your life is a story. It's a movie of the week. It's unbelievable and amazing and nobody would believe it. There's no room for that in real life. That's how good it is. You've done a lot. I've watched it, for a long time."

"You have, haven't you?"

"I only have the framed cover of the magazine to prove it. The rest is up here." He points to his head.

"Good memory."

"I cheated with some things. Had them written down."

"A diary? Small pink notebook with a lock and key?" She squeals and it's the first sign of the vibrant Lorelai he's heard tonight.

"I was talking about the horoscope."

"That is cheating. I was the one who wrote that down."

"Yeah. And…"

"And?"

"I'm glad."

"That I drove you insane that day?"

"And every day thereafter."

"Romeo." She notes, teasing him, trying desperately to lighten the mood.

He doesn't know how to respond, but he would like to take her to bed, to get some sleep, in his place so he can keep an eye on her and make sure she sleeps, not like the other night when she told him she ended up sitting in a chair until dawn.

"Will you stay? Tonight?"

"Come with me?"

"I can do that. Yeah."

"In a minute."

"Okay. Do you want coffee? Anything?"

"No. That's another thing. I addicted her to coffee. What kind of parent does that?"

"You." He answers and it's not at all malicious.

Flashback. One Granny Smith, followed by two Red Delicious and a mere slice of an over-ripened McIntosh. Stunning fear, memories of a night lit on fire, his tanned arm wrapped around her chest.

"Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you thought about it?"

His eyebrows rise and she knows he's on the right track, but wants to make sure they're talking about what he thinks they're talking about.

"Having children?" He answers back with a question, carefully.

Flashback. A flowing dress, Prince Charming with a glass slipper in hand, kneeling before her, describing the inherent dangers of jam hands. Presenting a qualifier. If he can find his Princess, a little soap and water can clean the sticky fingers.

"Yeah. Apart from Jess."

"I wasn't his father."

"No."

"I don't know, Lorelai."

It's an honest answer, in a way. He doesn't know why she's asking or what she wants to hear and because he's afraid she's in a state of duress tonight, he doesn't want to add to it by throwing her for a loop.

"And if it was a possibility?"

Luke didn't expect she'd throw him for a loop.

"Um, now?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"No, not really." She sighs. "I thought, last week, maybe, it might have been."

"Okay."

"After the party…"

"I remember. No, not really."

Flashback. Bright lights dimming in the distance as the city is left behind. Twinkling as his fingers strum her naked thighs. Heat held in the palm of her hand.

"It wasn't real. I knew in a day. So I didn't tell you, because I thought there wasn't anything to tell and now – I was wrong. One look from you, and…"

"So there's no chance?"

"No."

She waits for him to exhale that nervous worry. It doesn't happen.

"Why didn't you tell me, Lorelai? This 'nothing to tell' bit, I don't buy it. Not after what happened before with us."

This whole time she'd underestimated just how perceptive this man could be.

"I thought it would freak you out." She admits.

"That the woman I love may be carrying my child?"

Flashback. The day is sunny as she stands with him under the chuppah he built. The silence becomes overwhelming. Head turned, he looks at her gently, sideways. 'I've always hoped you would be happy.' He tells her.

"When you put it that way, it makes me sound awful."

"You're not awful. You thought I would what? Leave? Abandon the ship as it sinks? You?"

"You said - with the jam hands."

It sounds pathetic, even to her own ears.

"Who is he, Lorelai?"

She's taken aback by the question.

"Who is who?"

"This man, this guy you apparently think I am? Because I have a hard time recognizing him."

"I panicked."

She wrings her hands together, that being the best explanation she can come up with on such short notice.

"Do you really think I would leave you?"

It's sad, this tone of voice he is speaking in.

"I don't leave, Lorelai. It's everyone else who always leaves. I've stayed behind my whole life. My Mom, my Dad, Liz, Rachel, Jess, maybe even Nicole. I'm the only one left standing."

"I was wrong." She tells him immediately. "It's not you."

"I wouldn't leave you." He emphasizes, unnecessarily.

Flashback. A messed up nephew, a hundred thousand dollar loan, a new bed, parent-teacher interviews. An almost broken friendship with the woman he loves over the nephew he's trying to do right by. A sister and her husband and their broken limbs. A summer of opportunity gone when all he wanted was to see her in those super short shorts she'd wear on the hottest days. Driving Rory's furniture back and forth. The leaky roof, the broken stove, the door that doesn't lock, the loose porch, a runaway chicken, two cracked tiles on her kitchen countertop, a flat tire, the shoveled walk, and the two hands who did all that work. The savior who can baste a duck with the rest of them. The knight in shining armor who takes a crying, hysterical woman to the hospital to make amends with her distant father. The hero bearing coffee. The guy who can waltz while sliding his hand down the small of her back. A fisherman teaching her to cast a net. Builder of a boat, carver of a chuppah, bearer of food. A son, a brother, a friend, a lover.

"I think I was wrong." She interrupts her train of thought. "Really wrong."

"Yeah."

"Not about that. Well, about that too, but about something else."

"There's more?"

"Ever since I met you, I thought you were a little bit perfect. Someday, I thought, you'd meet Mrs. Backwards Baseball Hat and you'd make this great husband to her. How could you not? You, a guy who had never let a single soul down."

"Except five times before lunch, every day."

"Kirk doesn't count."

He offers her a smile at that.

"But it was a distant thing, in the future." She goes on. "And I think I see something I missed before."

"That in reality, I'm just me?"

She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly, but there is no mistaking the genuine look in her eyes.

"That you are a little bit perfect for me."

"I'm-"

It's rude to interrupt him, but she'll be damned if she's going to think another second about this.

Flashback. He thought there was a moment. There was.

"Every time I hold you I begin to understand…" She sings, a little bit off key and suspects at the same time that he's thinking she's lost it.

She hasn't lost it, and she's not numb anymore either.

"Luke?"

"Yeah?" He looks like he's expecting the heavens to open up and extraterrestrials to pour out in a colony, ready to abduct them from this surreal scene.

"Will you marry me?"


End file.
